6

Jonathan

That kiss. Those lips. The way her eyelashes fanned over her cheeks as she leaned into me. Images assault my mind, both wanted and unwanted. I’ve never been affected by a woman. Not like this. Not so totally beyond my control.

Even my sleep is invaded by images of her. Lucid dreams streamed one after the other, driving through my skull straight to my cock. Not only of that kiss. But of all of the other times I’ve seen her on campus, head down, hair covering her face, laptop held over her chest as though she’s wielding a shield. There’s no need for her to hide.

She’s beautiful.

Enthralling.

An obsession.

I’ve also noticed the way young men watch her. If she lifted her head; wasn’t wrapped up in her own world so much, she’d see them too. I’m not prepared for the quick upper jab of jealousy that hits me right in the center of my chest.

She never answered when I questioned her about harassment. Or worse. She left before I’d gathered my wits about me and, despite my best efforts, I haven’t seen a trace of her around campus since then.

She’s hiding.

I make a mental promise that if I can’t track her down before the next Business Analytics class, at least I’ll find a way to talk to her there, before she can scurry off into obscurity again.

My shoes sink into the push carpet along the hallway that graces Dean Marty Sotheby’s office. Light gleams off his brass name on the door, as pretentious and overstated as the man. I stop outside his door, take a steeling breath and hold it until my lungs ache. I can’t think of Cathy now. I need to give my full attention to the man who holds my career in the palm of his hand. The man I wish I’d never had the misfortune to meet.

I knock.

“Enter.” Marty barks the command.

I do as he requests, steeling myself for another of round of Marty’ mind games. Marty taps his computer, not bothering to look up from his ‘important’ work, and makes me wait standing on the other side of his overstated desk. I roll my shoulders and look over the desk. The oak gleams, as rich and lush as the money he paid for it, which was exactly the sum total of my monthly wage. I know because he made me order and pay for it with the university’s funds, just because he could. Purchasing it should have been an administrators job, but I know it was his way of putting me in his place.

His gaze flicks up, the pale blue eyes flicking over me as he waves at the chair by my side. “Sit.”

I do, letting my focus slide over the trophies in the cabinet behind him and the framed certificate of his qualifications. All of them a fabrication. As pretentious as the man steeping his fingers as he regards me. I’ve been called here for a reason and it shines in the greed flashing in his eyes.

For the millionth time I wish he’d never seen me with Emmerson and drawn the right conclusions. He’s going to hold it over me forever. So it’s up to me to end things. I’ve started to build evidence, but I need to make sure it’s ironclad. Marty has a lot of friends in high places.

“Marty—”

“That’s Dean Sotheby to you,” he bites out.

The prickling at the back of my neck heats to a rash. He may treat me as if I’m beneath him, but there’s no way in hell he will ever intimidate me. I will not allow it.

“We have another investor,” he says.

I know what he’s going to ask of me and sickness rises in my gut. “Who?”

He shifts around in his seat, the sweating glands under his arms making small wet circle patches on the silk of his shirt. “Blue Sky Empire. Dominic Fowler made a personal donation. Apparently his daughter is studying here.”

For the first time in this shoulder-tensing conversation, surprise jolts through me. University investors can sometimes be privacy nuts and wish the world to never know how filthy rich they are. I know the Fowler name. Dominic Fowler is a billionaire mogul, boasting the construction of high profile buildings across New York. He’s been in the media lately because of his upcoming wedding to a woman who lived in obscurity before he met her.

Something doesn’t ring true here. Usually a personal donation accompanies an unsaid promise. Look after my son or daughter. If his daughter is studying here, surely I would know? I take a lot of classes and I know every one of my students, not just by name but by face and often by who their friends are. Or aren’t.

Marty leans forward and I force my attention back to the man behind the desk.

“You need to find out who she is. Befriend her and discover everything she knows about her father. His business, his bank accounts. Everything. She’ll be smitten with a professor, I’m sure. You know how to play the game.”

I grit my teeth hard enough to crack a molar. “You know full well that Emmerson was a full consenting partner…”

“Who happened to be a student here at the time. I don’t care about your history with her. Only that you carried on a personal affair with a student,” he says.

“A student who was a childhood sweetheart from my hometown.” Two years younger than me, but still old enough to be a consenting adult. She came to Northwestern University shortly after I was hired. Our affair was brief, both of us thinking there was still something there. Turned out there wasn’t. It fizzled out within the month, but not before Sotheby found out about it.

Sotheby waves his hand, “Semantics.”

It is. I agree. Unfortunately, on surface level, he’s correct.

The sooner I get out of here, the better. I can go to Student Services and find out who Dominic Fowler’s daughter is. I’ll write a ‘thank you for your donation’ letter to give the woman when I approach her.

Because there’s no good way to do this.

Marty leans back in his chair. “I’ll leave it to you to work out how the money is to be handled.” He narrows his eyes. “And don’t tell a single soul. If I find out that this information has leaked in any way, shape or form, you know you can kiss your career goodbye.”

Another excuse he’s used over my head.

“You also have a new student in your class. Make him welcome,” Marty says.

“It’s halfway through the semester. It’s too late for a new student,” I say. The course is hard on students who come to every class, let alone someone starting with weeks left to go. “Not to mention my students are halfway through their assignments.”

“He’s an employee at Blue Sky. We’re not doing anything to piss Fowler off. You’ll damn well give the man personal lessons if you have to. I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize more potential donations from Fowler. He’s my cash cow, Black. I’ll do anything to keep money flowing from the likes of him.”

I know exactly where I stand. In a paddle-less canoe riding the rapids of Shit Creek. “Anything else?”

“One of your students requested to transfer out of your class,” he says.

I swallow down a sick feeling. Cathy promised not to tell, but in the end, that’s something I should not have asked for. Not expected. Cathy is nothing like Emmerson. She wasn’t a past girlfriend who gave me a second chance. Cathy is a student I coerced. “Who?”

Marty thumbs through a stack of papers. “Cathy Evans.”

I stare at him, waiting for the kick-to-the-gut that’s sure to follow. “What about her?”

A frown pulls at Sotheby’s brow as he studies me and I work to control my expression. “No one has room for her. You’ll need to talk to her. Work out what her issue is. Keep her happy and at the university. I don’t want her going anywhere else. Students are money.”

I work hard not to show my relief. For the first time in my interactions with Marty, I’m happy to do as he asks.

“That’s all.” Marty turns his attention back to his screen. God knows what he’s working on. Probably busy watching porn for all I know.

I stand and show myself out. The door clicks shut behind me. I make sure I’m well clear of the administration building before I take my phone from my pocket and turn off the recording function. I save it to the cloud, making sure to date and time stamp it.

If I’m jailed for embezzlement, I’m making sure I take Sotheby with me.